by Holly Jacobs
He laughed. "That's devious, Sami."
"It's called self-preservation. Would you like more wine?" Without waiting for an answer, she poured some into his glass, then her own. "This is delicious."
"I spent last Saturday touring the wineries in North East." A small town just outside of Erie, North East had a number of small, family-run wineries. Most people didn't think of Pennsylvania in connection with grapes and wine, but it was one of the larger grape-growing regions in the country. Welch's had a plant there and made jams and juices. "It's a beautiful place. I'll confess, I bought a number of bottles."
"Well, I'm glad you shared." She took another sip. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No. I'm fine. Everything's perfect. I can't tell you when I had a meal this good."
She looked flustered by the compliment. "Thanks, but it's not anything fancy." She paused, then said, "We seem to have a few extra quiet minutes. Tell me about your life after you moved to Ohio."
"Let's see, how to sum up the last twenty years? Mom and I moved to Columbus. I started at a new school. A year later, she remarried. My mom and stepfather had two more kids. Dad remarried, as well, and they had three more kids."
"Who did you live with?"
"I sort of felt like an outcast in both families, so I stayed with my grandparents." He couldn't believe he'd just confessed that. Feeling awkward, he hurried on, hoping Samantha wouldn't comment. "I didn't want to change schools again. So, I finished high school there, then went to OSU."
He expected her to push, to tell him that of course both his parents loved him and would have welcomed him into their homes. He'd heard it before from his grandparents and parents. It might have been true, but that didn't alter the fact that he felt out of place in each of his parents' new lives.
But Samantha didn't push. Instead, she asked, "You planned to be a principal?"
"No. Actually, I have a degree in journalism. I worked for a few papers, but discovered I wanted something more. I couldn't figure out what until we had a school tour come through the paper. We had a staff lottery, and I lost."
"Lost?" She took a sip of the wine.
"Loser led the tour," he admitted ruefully. "But really, I won. Talking to the kids, seeing them light up and get enthusiastic. . ." He shrugged. "I just knew I'd figured it out. I got emergency certification, but went back to school nights and got a degree in education. I moved into administration last year as an assistant principal. I'm taking classes at Edinboro in order to finish my administration degree."
"So, what brought you back to Erie, just school?"
His one small slip of utter truthfulness was all he could manage to indulge in. He didn't lie, but he didn't need to give Samantha full disclosure, either. "I needed a change of scenery. I didn't plan on working, but Geri asked if I'd help her out and fill in at Erie Elementary until she found a new principal."
"And here you are. Back where you started." She smiled as if that was a good thing.
"Yes. Back where I started."
"Did you ever marry?"
Harry knew that Samantha had no way of knowing her question was like rubbing salt in an open wound. And he didn't go into details as he simply shook his head. "Came close, but no, I never married."
Again, she didn't push. She just reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "I'm sorry."
"Your turn."
"I married, had four kids, and divorced. That's it in a nutshell. Not overly exciting, but I'm happy."
"I'm sorry about the divorce."
"I am, too. Not so much for me. I'm surprisingly all right." She wore a puzzled look, as if she wasn't quite sure how it was that she was all right. "We were so young when we married. I was still in college. I think the marriage ended a long time before either of us admitted it. It hurt, but I think it was for the best. . .for us at least. Not the kids. Watching them go through it hurt me more than the divorce itself. The fact their father ignores them hurts them all. I can see it, and it's frustrating not being able to do anything about it. And you've looked at the boys' files. I don't know what else to do for them."
He realized her hand was still on top of his, so he flipped his and they were palm to palm. He gave her hand a squeeze.
"Wow, that was far more serious than I'd intended. What do you say we forget about the past, and look to the future? I predict it will be sweet." She raised her wineglass.
Harry raised his own glass and toasted with her. "To a sweet future for both of us." They each took a sip. "So do you often predict the future?"
"In this case, it wasn't hard. I know of a certain pumpkin pie cooling on the counter. I guarantee it's sweet." She grinned.
"Maybe we could go out sometime," he found himself blurting out.
"Pardon?"
"You and me. Out. Dinner or something."
"Harry, I don't—"
"Just two old friends having some fun."
"Oh, of course, that makes sense. You know, after Phillip left me, I lost my old circle of friends. I don't know if they backed away from me or if I backed away from them, but regardless, I've been lonely. I didn't even notice it until I got stuck on the Social Planning Committee with Michelle and Carly, but looking back, I see how lonely I've been this last year. And I know I don't want to be that way again, so yes, going out with a friend for dinner or something some night would be very nice."
"I don't know anyone here in town, so I'd welcome a friend, as well." Harry needed to be sure she understood it couldn't be more than friendship. He'd sworn that he'd never date a woman with a child again. And Samantha had four. As much as he enjoyed the Williams family, he'd never allow it to go any further than friendship.
"Then you've got a date, at least in a two-friends-having-dinner-but-not-really-dating sort of way. I don't know—"
Whatever it was Samantha didn't know, Harry would also never know, because at that moment a hellacious noise came from the living room.
"Sorry," she blurted, even as she jumped out of her chair and raced toward the door. "We'll have to finish this later."
She disappeared from sight, and Harry could hear her refereeing. "Boys, you know better than picking up Grunge."
"But, Mom—"
"No, buts. . ."
Harry smiled as he listened. Samantha was firm, but loving. She'd seemed so surprised when he suggested they go out.
To be honest, so was he.
Because despite telling Samantha he just needed a buddy, there was something more. An attraction there that wasn't quite a platonic friendship. As a matter of fact, when she was toasting their sweet future, he'd been thinking how sweet it would be to kiss her, and that thought alone was a shock.
Oh, he'd noted that she was a good-looking woman. There was no denying that. However, he'd met a lot of good-looking women since Teresa had left him, and none of them had made him think about kissing them to the degree that Samantha Williams had.
"Now, go find Stella and tell her to bring Grunge down. We'll all have pumpkin pie before Mr. Remington has to leave. Then all you guys have to tackle the cleanup."
He heard footsteps on the stairs, and Samantha reentered the room. "Sorry about that. Chaos rules this house. At least it does when the kids are around."
"I deal with kids every day. I'm immune to chaos."
SAMANTHA WASN'T SURE that dealing with kids at school could really equal dealing with them at home, but she let Harry have his illusion.
Stella ran into the room, Ruby in one hand, Grunge in the other. "Grunge and me are ready for pie."
"Stella, we've had this discussion before," Samantha reminded her daughter. "Cats don't eat people food."
"But most cats eat mice, and Grunge never does. So, maybe since he doesn't like cat food, he'd like people food better."
"There's a certain logic to your argument," Samantha agreed with a smile, "but still we're not giving the cat people food. It could make him sick."
"Mice could make him sick. They've got bones and stuff. Pumpki
n pie never would. It doesn't even have any seeds in it."
"Stella, put the cat and doll down, if you want a piece yourself. . . ."
"No Ruby, Stella. No Grunge, Stella," the little girl mimicked as she put the cat on the floor and her doll on the windowsill. "I don't get nothin', Mom."
"You get pie. And a family who loves you. That's a lot"
Stella didn't look convinced as she took her seat.
Stan entered the room, still glowering, although Samantha didn't have any idea about what. Stan was thirteen, and she was discovering that thirteen-year-olds didn't need any real reason to sulk. The expression seemed to come naturally with the teenage territory.
And Harry was still sitting in his seat, watching them all. She wondered if he was regretting his impromptu invitation. And she knew he hadn't planned on suggesting they have dinner by the surprised look on his face as he'd said the words.
She was equally confused by the fact she'd said yes. Chapter Two in How to Be Happy Without Really Trying suggested that in order to be happy you had to accept you had a right to be happy. And she'd known as he'd asked, going out to dinner with Harry would make her happy. It wasn't a date, and that was actually comforting. She wasn't sure if she was ready to date.
She dished up the slices of pie and took them into the dining room. "Okay, everyone dig in." Her fork made it halfway to her mouth before the doorbell rang.
She wasn't sure who to expect on a Sunday, but when she opened the door and found her ex-husband there, it wasn't even on her list of possibilities.
"Phillip?"
"Sorry to just drop in, but I was hoping you had some time. I want to make arrangements to have the kids over more regularly, now that I'm settled."
"You do?"
"Don't look so surprised, Sam."
She tried to school her expression, but clearly she wasn't doing a very good job of it. "Sorry. It's just, it's been a year—"
"I know. I was in a bad place for a very long time, but I'm better now, and Lois says—" He cut himself off.
"I know about Lois. It's okay, Phillip," she told him gently. And it was. "I'm happy if you've found someone who makes you happy."
He didn't look as if he quite believed her. "So, can I come in?"
Samantha nodded. "Sure. We were just finishing up dinner."
"I don't want to interrupt."
"You're not." Well, he was. Though Samantha wasn't about to tell him that. Not after wanting so desperately for him to spend time with the kids.
As they walked into the dining room, the kids cried, "Dad." She saw Harry's look of surprise, and turned to find Phillip staring as if he'd been caught off guard, as well.
She felt guilty.
She knew she had no reason to. She was divorced, and Phillip had someone living with him, for Pete's sake. She had every right to invite Harry to dinner.
Still, there it was—guilt.
She knew she needed to say something to smooth this over. Harry stood, and walked around the table. "Harry. Harry Remington."
"Phillip Williams."
They shook, and Samantha felt even more awkward than before. "Sorry. Phil, Harry's the kids' principal. He treated us to pizza yesterday, so we're treating him to pumpkin pie today."
"I see." Phillip cast her a speculative look. "Maybe we should do this some other time?"
"No, that's not necessary," Harry said almost too quickly. "You two do whatever it is you need to do. I've finished my pie—and Sami, it was just as delicious as the kids said. I'll see myself out."
"Let me walk you to the door." When they reached the semi-quiet foyer, she said, "I'm sorry about the interruption. I'd have asked him to do it later, it's just—"
"He's showing an interest and you want to encourage it. I get that. It's all right. But if he's going to take the kids for a night, do you think we could have that date?'
"A date, you say?" The word made her nervous, so she clarified, "Sure. A dinner between two old friends. I'd like that."
"I look forward to it." He glanced behind her. "Talk to you soon to set a date."
There it was, that word again.
Samantha stood at the door and watched him leave, feeling bemused. She had a date.
The realization sank in.
He'd originally asked her to go out to dinner, no mention of the word date.
But he'd said the word date.
Twice.
So were they going out to dinner, a couple of old friends? Or was it a date?
She didn't know, and she was rather afraid to find out.
Chapter Four
"Help," Samantha said as an opening greeting that Friday at the next meeting of the PTA moms.
Michelle and Carly were both already at the Erie Elementary meeting room when she arrived.
"Hi, Samantha," Carly said. "What do you need help with?"
"The Thanksgiving Pageant?" Michelle asked.
Samantha sank into a vacant chair. "No, not the pageant. Worse. You see, I'm confused. I agreed to go out to dinner with an old friend. An old male friend."
Okay, so maybe old friend was a generous description. When she was in fifth grade, it was unthinkable being the friend of a seventh-grade boy. The two groups traveled in separate stratospheres. "Maybe an old acquaintance is a better description. The point is, I agreed to just a dinner, but he used the word date. Twice. Once he said, you've got a date, and the second time he just talked about setting a date, so maybe that was just picking a day. Hmm, maybe I'm only worried about him using the word once. Or maybe I'm nervous about having dinner with a man, even in the most platonic sense."
Samantha felt better simply taking about her concern. "I could really use some advice. . . well, after we do the business part of tonight's meeting."
"Business can wait," Carly assured her. "I brought éclairs from Traditions." She opened the box. "And three coffees. We'll talk as we have our snack, then we'll get to our business."
Samantha eyed the hoagie-sized confections and she sucked her stomach in tight. The éclair, on top of Sunday's pumpkin pie and its leftovers, meant she'd be sucking in her stomach through the holiday if she indulged. "Those can't be éclairs. . .I mean, they're huge."
"They don't mess around at that bakery. I love going to the market. Urbaniak's has the best meat department." Carly chose one of the sweet confections, placed it on a napkin and pulled it toward her. "Come on, help yourselves. I even brought forks."
Accept happiness, she reminded herself. Chapter Two of How to Be Happy Without Really Trying was quite explicit. And she knew she'd be happier with an éclair than without. So she took hers and allowed herself to savor the first bite.
Éclairs and coffee distributed, Michelle said, "Now, spill. Who's the date—that maybe's not a date—with, and where's he taking you?"
"No, I've decided I just panicked. It's not a date. We'd clarified that it wasn't a date, so it isn't."
"Come on, drama queen. No need to drag it out." Carly laughed. "Who is it?"
Samantha didn't see any point in beating around the bush, so she blurted out, "Harry Remington."
"Who?" Carly asked.
"Mr. Remington, the new principal. His first name is Harry, Heidi said," Michelle reminded Carly.
They both eyed Samantha curiously.
She swallowed the éclair and nodded. "Yes, the principal."
"Oh. So, I guess that meeting with him went well?" Carly laughed again and took a disgustingly huge bite of her éclair.
"It did. You see. . ." She filled them in on everything from her first meeting with Harry, recalling how she'd known him when they were younger, to the boys' detention and subsequent pizza outing, to Sunday dinner. "So we were going to go out sometime for dinner, and then he called it a date."
"Hold on," Carly said around a huge bite of éclair. "Is it a date, or a dinner thing, like you might go on with me and Michelle?"
"That's just it, I don't know."
"Which do you want it to be?" Michelle asked qui
etly.
Now, that was the other question she'd been wrangling with.
"I don't know that, either, and I don't know why I don't know. Harry's cute and sweet. I should be hoping it's a date-date, but I'm not. I'm dreading that it is. He's an interim principal—only in Erie for a short time. Even if it was a date-date, it couldn't go anywhere. And there's not much I'm certain about, except the fact that I'm not ready to date. Balancing the kids, work and now the Thanksgiving Pageant is all I can manage. I don't think I could juggle dating. A dinner with a friend, yes, but not dating."
That was the truth, but not all of it. Things might have been stagnant between her and Phillip for a long time, but when he'd told her he was leaving, she'd been blindsided. She'd hurt so much. All she'd wanted to do was crawl into a hole and stay there. But she couldn't. The kids had been hurt and confused. She'd had to get up and keep going for their sakes. And slowly, each day, her own pain seemed to have ebbed. Eventually, she could think of Phillip without it hurting. She could remember the good times, and there had been good times.
Now, more than a year removed from him walking out, she felt as if she'd healed. Although that didn't mean she was ready to go through that kind of pain again. And dating meant considering a relationship. She wasn't ready for that risk.
"Maybe that's the way to get back into dating, with a rebound man, a relationship that can't go anywhere," Carly said.
"Actually, there might be something nice about a relationship with no strings, no expectations." Michelle sounded wistful.
Carly looked intrigued with the idea. "When I get back into the dating circuit—if I get back into the dating circuit—it will be casual all the way. I'd want a quiet man. Someone who wouldn't tell me what I should do, and shouldn't do. Someone who won't mind me standing on my own two feet because I guarantee you that I won't ever count on someone else again. Been there, done that and discovered I didn't really enjoy the experience."
"I don't think it's a date-date," Samantha said with a little more confidence. "He had a bad break in his past." She thought about the flash of pain on his face when she'd asked if he'd ever married. She'd felt both pity and a bond of kinship with him at that moment. "So, I don't think it is."
